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FALLING 

LEAVES 

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SARA A. C. PLUMMER 






The writer of these desultory 
pages has no illusions concern- 
ing them. There is nothing to 
interest the general public; but 
if their compilation will please 
her own immediate family, and 
that small but very precious 
circle of personal friends who 
love her, the result will abundant- 
ly compensate the author. 

Sara A. C. Plummer. 




Cbpyright 1917 
Sara A. C. Plummer 



I. N. Davidson 
Printer 

Seattle 

MAR 28 1317 



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FALLING LEAVES 
To A. W. C. in 1875 

I remember what you said 
When the stars shone overhead — 
Frosty stars that gleamed above 
When I saw you last, my love. 

Hand in hand I said goodby ; 
Heart to heart you made reply — 
"Footsteps parting in the snow 
Meet again when roses blow." 

Roses budded, bloomed and fled, 
All the summer flowers are dead ; 
Autumn showered her rainy tears 
Hopes are faded into fears. 

Frosty stars are shining now 
Once again above my brow — 
Summer streams to ice are chilled 
And thy promise unfulfilled. 



Falling Leases 



Thinking of Memorial Day 1894 

Millions of raindrops are falling today 
Over the brown, thirsty breast of the earth ; 
Healing its barrenness — bringing to birth 
The buddings of April, the blossoms of May. 

Millions of grassblades are springing today 
To cover the tokens of death and of blight — 
They cover the graves of our dead from our sight ; 
So daintily thatching their mansions of clay. 

Millions of teardrops are falling unheard — 
Shed in humanity's uttermost need — 
Save by the Healer — whose benefits speed 
Who speaks to the nations with help in His word. 

Millions of blood drops have fallen — Oh, God ! 
Treasure such showers in thy merciful Hand — 
That travail-won harvests bloom rich in our land 
As buddings and blossoms spring up from the sod ! 



Falling Leaves 



Third M. V. I. 1884 

The troubled peace at length was broke, 
From lip to lip the tidings ran — 
When rebel guns at Sumpter woke 
The listening airs of Michigan. 

Roused by the Nation's call to arms 
The long roll beat from sea to sea ; 
From cities, villages and farms 
Swept in the legions of the free. 

A thousand rifles to the front, 
A thousand boys in union blue — 
They bring to stem the battle's brunt 
A thousand patriot hearts and true. 

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We saw them when they pressed before 
The bravest in the army's van, 
We knew when red Virginia's shore 
Was wet with blood of Michigan. 

We followed where the "Diamond" led 
Victorious legions in the fight — 
We heard brave Kearney when he said — 
"Put Michigan on guard tonight." 



Falling Leaves 



We listened to their bugle's call — 
We wept their fallen — but we knew 
That He who marks the sparrow's fall 
Could keep them, too. 

High were their hopes, and high attained- 
For glory hovered where they trod — 
And he who brightest laurels gained 
Received his honors from his God. 

We greet them victors over wrong — 
We hail them conquerers by right ! 
We strike the harp and weave the song 
In valor's praise tonight. 

Oh, proud Peninsula ! thro these — 
For thee the blood of heroes runs ; 
Encircled by thine inland seas, 
Thy noblest products are thy sons. 



Falling Leaves 



Fourth M. V. I. 1887 

Are these the heroes of that day ? 

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So light of step, so blithe were they — 
Unclouded eyes and sun-bright hair — 
Strong hearts where kindliness held sway, 
Smooth cheeks and lips, and with an air 
About each youthful, blue-clad form, 
Of mother's clasp and kiss yet warm. 

The loyal homes between the lakes 
Held lonely hearts in Michigan ; 
They wore brave faces for your sakes, 
Your bugle notes blew strong and free ; 
But their lone prayers rose silently, 
Their hearts kept time with quickened beat 
To the cadence of your marching feet. 

Shine summer's sun ! Again ye shine 
As on that day at Gettysburg, 
When loyal lives upon the shrine 
Of Freedom's altar yielded free — 
Where loyal blood was poured like wine 
For God and sweet humanity. 



TEN Falling Leaves 



We sing the praises of the boys 

Who died for us mid smoke and flame, 

Where trenches held them ; or the claim 

Of prison walls their bodies bound ; 

But whose freed spirits at the sound 

Of God's voice upward sprang. They wait 

To greet us at the Jasper gate. 

Their sweet lives do not die unsung; 

Age shall not touch them in its sway, 

Forever beautiful and young, 

We keep them in our hearts today ! 



Falling Leaves 



Extracts from War Poems 

Had you a lover in the ranks? 
'Nay, then," she cried, "not one but two — 
Swifter than eagles — stronger — finer 
Than princes in their suits of blue. 
And leaped my heart with joy and pride 
To see them march beside the others ; 
With love — hope — dread — a mingled tide- 
Because they were my soldier brothers." 



twelve Falling Leaves 



The Tennessee Girl 

The time was eighteen sixty-three, 
When treason flaunted the rebel rag — 
And loyal old East Tennessee 
Lived two long years without the flag. 

Years of sadness, of want, of fears — 
Of exiled brothers and rifled home — 
Years of longing, thro' strife and tears 
To see the blue-clad army come. 

How we welcomed them ! Burnside's best ! 
Veteran heroes "grim and solemn — 
Men from the grand old North and West" 
Marched in many a line and column. 

O, the joy of their bugle song! 
O, the blissful beat of the drums ! 
When skirting the mountain sides along 
The liberating army comes. 

A Michigan regiment passed close by 
Just there by that pine tree's lengthening shade, 
And one of them carried — swung free and high- 
A miniature flag on his bayonet blade. 

The dear old flag! 

The tears leaped into my eyes like rain 
'Hurrah for the Stars and Stripes !" I cried ; 
T could kiss that soldier who brings again 
The flag so long to our sight denied." 



Felling Leaves THIRTEEN 

He heard me and came from the ranks with a smile, 
"Your chance is good," were the words he said — 
He leaned towards me over the stile 
And I kissed his cheek — while my own flashed red. 

But cheer on cheer went up from the troops, 
Caps were lifted and tossed in play, 
And the colonel said to the halting groups, 
"I'll carry that flag the rest of the way." 

Bronzed and brown was the boy I kissed, 
He was a youth to love and sigh for 
As he marched away thro the dusty mist, 
A man to live for — a man to die for ! 

I watched that tossing flag on high 
Till the faded Stars and Stripes grew dim 
And I knew ere the rearmost ranks passed by 
He had carried my heart away with him. 

And if he fell in the cruel strife 
And sleeps this blood-bought soil below, 
If rendered up was the bright young life 
In his country's cause — I shall never know. 

Perhaps he lives : On a northern farm 
I see him, sometimes, in my dreams : 
A blue-eyed wife is on his arm, 
The yellow harvest round him teems. 

But in his deep eyes' tender gray 
There lives no memory of me — 
Who kissed him on that August day — 
Under the pines of Tennessee ! 



fourteen Falling Leaves 



The incident alluded to in the "Tennessee Girl" ac- 
tually occurred when the Twenty-third Michigan In- 
fantry, Second Brigade, Second Division, Twenty-third 
Army Corps marched with Bumside to rescue that por- 
tion of the State of Tennessee from the Rebels. 

The soldier in the poem was the writer's brother — 
Samuel Cochrane, of Company "A." 

The poem was written at Perry, Michigan, about 1886, 
and read the same day as part of the program of a 
Twenty-third Michigan regimental reunion. Nearly all 
of the original officers were present, as well as both 
brothers of the writer, Samuel Cochrane and Lieut. Isaac 
N. Cochrane. The latter was the well-known physician 
and surgeon of Delphi, Indiana, where he settled after his 
graduation from the University of Michigan in 1868. 



Falling Leaves 



FIFTEEN 



U. S. Grant 

In the great Nation's greatest need we prayed 
For succor: "God of Freedom, interpose, 
And send a chosen man unto our aid." 
This kingly warrior to our help arose 
And beat to dust our foes. 

A threshing instrument, divinely made 
To put the slaveholder's rebellion down, 
At his victorious feet our wreaths we laid, 
And when we proffered more than kingly crown 
To him, the world bowed down. 

Ah, what avails it now that from our eyes 
The bitter tear drops fall? We sit and weep 
In humble homes : we feel a sad surprise 
That death could wrest our hero from our keep 
And our rich vintage reap. 

Whom battle scathe avoided in the rush 
Of war's loud clamors round his naked head — 
Whom treason could not slay, nor terrors crush, 
Of him thruout the land he saved, 'tis said 
That Grant is dead. 



SIXTEEN Falling Leaves 



A nation helpless at an open grave ! 
'Tis God's last quickening crucible to prove him. 
Of all we longed to do could only love him — 
And close the stone-sealed sepulchre above him. 

Now lift, O Citizen, thy hands to heaven 
And swear thy children's heritance shall be 
Purged from the old disloyal, hateful leaven. 
A land united, virtuous and free 
From sea to sea. 

The king is dead. There is no heir to claim 
The mantle of his greatness. We must own 
There is no breathing man, nor buried fame 
Worthy to sit upon the vacant throne — 
Forever his — alone ! 



Falling Leaves SEVENTEEN 

The School at Talladega 

Backward thro' slow decades to run 
'Neath Alabama's burning sun 
A building" grew ; from sill to roof 
Its joints and planks and timbers proof. 
No shams the sturdy workmen gave, 
The master builder was a slave. 
Of stately mold, with deft right hand 
His fertile brain the structure planned. 
He knew each use and staunch and fair 
Framed pupil's desk and teacher's chair — 
Till room by room it grew complete, 
A schoolhouse shrine for youthful feet. 

Oft as he toiled he thought : "Alas, 

No child of mine can ever pass 

Thro' these fair portals ; no blest draught 

Of learning from this fount be quaffed. 

I build the temple — but the fire 

Its altar warms no son nor sire 

Of my sad race can ever know 

The rapture of its fervent glow. 

Books are the master's heritage, 

The slave reads not the printed page." 

Musing- he slept and dreamed a dream- — 
He heard the blaring trumpet's scream 
The bugle note — the clamorous drum 
Of bannered hosts the warlike hum ; 
There wandered o'er his wildered ken 
Blood, battles, groans of wounded men — 
And wheeling squadrons charging down 
And death shells hurtling thro' the town. 



EIGHTEEN Falling Leaves 



Amid the warrior hosts in blue 
He thought the Savior's face he knew ; 
He spake, "Oh, son, lift up thine head, 
And take thy country's flag-!" he said. 
'Stars are the meeds that victor's please ; 
Thy body hath borne stripes ; bear these. 
Forever more thou shalt be free ! 
Not judgment this — but jubilee!" 

He took the flag, and in the front 

Of many a bitter battle's brunt 

He wrapped its folds his body round, 

Nor suffered it to touch the ground — 

Till victory swept from sea to sea, 

The land was saved — the slave was free. 

His dream went on ; he saw the sky 

Clear brightly as the clouds rolled by ; 

He saw once more that old school house 

Beneath its shade of piny boughs, 

A hum of voices filled the place, 

And lo ! the children of his race. 

Dusk groups of freedmen's sons and daughters 

Drank from this fountain wisdom's waters. 

Children of his own blood were there. 

In transports of a happy prayer 

Of thanks to God he woke. But you 

Know that the poor slave's dream came true. 



Falling Leaves NINETEEN 

Mabel 

What, make a poem of our household pet? 

She is a poem ready made, you know ; 
A piece of God's fair handiwork — just let 

To brighten, for a space, our home below. 

There's naught on earth that seemeth half so fair 
To my fond eyes — so perfect and complete — 

From the soft ripplings of her gold-brown hair 
Down to the dimples in her tiny feet. 

The starry brightness of her winsome eyes, 

The snowy lids with dusky fringes hung, 

Her cunning household pranks — her sweet replies — 
The liquid music of her lisping tongue. 

The sweet red lips with kisses brimming o'er 
And loving words for every living thing — 

Her pearly teeth — in number just a score — 

Heart treasures all, to me ; with power to bring 

Back from the vanished past the olden days 
And lighten every burden of the hour 

With dreams that fill the future's misty haze 
As golden buds bespeak the coming flower. 

Three shining linklets in her chain of years 

Are finished ; polished fair each silver strand. 

The length of that dear chain not yet appears, 
Its clasps are hidden in the Father's hand. 

Just entering the valley, green and fair — 

What hills and darksome mountains lie before 

We know not ; but we'll shield her with a prayer ; 
God guide her safely to the golden door' 



TWENTY Falling Leaves 

A Garden Ballad 

Sweet William wooed fair Marigold ; 
Sweet William wore a Prince's feather 
No Cockscomb he — a soldier bold, 
With Larkspurs on his patent leather. 

Upon his hands Foxgloves so Spruce — 
His steed he urged — nor stayed, nor tarried 
A silken snow White-flag of truce 
Upon a Golden Rod he carried. 

No Monk's Hood capped him from the sky 
With wreath of Maiden's Hair — bespoken — 
He wore upon his helmet high 
His Lady's Slipper for a token. 

A maiden fair was Marigold, 
Her Virgin's Bower in gardens shady 
With faithful servitors in hold 
An Old man and a Ragged lady. 

Her Colt's Foot pawed the Meadowsweet 
Her Phlox were tended leal and loyal, 
Her Shepherd's purse was still replete 
With Moneyvine and Pennyroyal. 

But sore she mourned her absent love, 
With Canterbury Bells Sloe chiming, 
Her Blueflag furled on tower above, 
Her sad thoughts to a sad tune rhyming. 



Felling Leaves TWENTY-ONE 



My-Love-lies-Bleeding," oft she cried — 
"While Nightshades dim my Morning Glory ; 
xA.nd I must Pine a Mourning-bride 
Where Windflowers chant my fateful story." 

Sometimes she smiled in hopeful part — 
"O, my Sweet William ! Live-for-ever ! 
Bring Balm to heal my Bleeding Heart. 
Forget-me-not ! Forget me never !" 

The clouds are clearing from her sky, 
The Catch-flies to the breeze are humming, 
She sees her lover drawing nigh, 
Her Thyme has come, for he is coming. 

"My Heart's-Delight," she cried elate — 
"Sure Heart's ease blooms in summer weather. 
"O, Kiss-me-over-the-garden-gate, 
Sweet William, with the Prince's feather." 

"Orchis me with thine own Tulips, 
My Bridal-rose, my sweet Spring-beauty ! 
Upon thy Lily finger tips 
I press the Golden Seal of duty." 



TWENTY-TWO Falling Leaves 



Bessie 

Ancestress of "Hoosier Belle," "Josephine," "Little Robert Dillon," 
"Jack" and "Tom" 

With an eye like a hawk, and a head like a fawn, 
And slim, jetty legs — swift as lances of dawn — 
So gentle, so fearless, so ready to do, 
So gallant in bearing, in spirit so true. 
Now who is this faithfullest, prettiest horse? 
Why, Bessie, of course. 

We love her, and pat her, and stroke her, nor miss 

The kind pretty nose she holds out for a kiss ; 

We call her pet names : "Sweetheart," "Lady" and "Dear," 

And watch the soft, quivering, sensitive ear, 

As she listens ; this knowing, intelligent horse ! 

Is Bessie, of course. 

Black, red, roan or dappled, white, sorrel or gray, 
Cream-colored, brown, chestnut, or claybank, or bay, 
Stand all together in gallant array. 
Look them well over, and tell me, I pray, 
Which is the darlingest, cunningest horse? 
Why, Bessie, of course ! 



Falling Leaves TWENTY-THREE 



Hoosier Belle 

On a gala day the crowd 
Musters equipages proud — 
Glancing hoof and harness sheen ; 
But of all the steeds that meet 
Thronging down the stately street, 
Stepping slowly, stepping fleet, 
La Belle Hoosier is the queen. 

Hoosier with her deer-like head, 
And her dainty feet that tread 
Lightly, proudly on the way; 
With her silken, shining coat, 
Love locks tossing, mane a-float, 
And her human, whinnied note 
When she smells the clover hay. 

Vainly on the freshening wind 
Come the hoof-beats close behind 
With their rhythmic ebb and swell, 
Thou and I, dear, have no need 
Of the fabled wing-ed steed, 
When we put her to her speed — 
Bonnie little Hoosier Belle ! 



TWENTY-FOUR Falling Leaves 



Josephine 

Bring no silken reins to me, 
Till my lady's face I see ; 
Golden bits I will refuse 
Till my lady dear shall choose. 
O, her hands, so velvet fine ! 
O, her eyes, that look in mine ! 
O, her voice, so sweet, so dear ! 
When she whispers in my ear; 
Yes, she whispers — while I lean 
Close to hear her — "Josephine," 
'Best of horses, stable queen ! 
'Josephine !" 

All the world shall see and hear 
How I love my lady dear. 
All the world shall hear and see 
How my lady dear loves me ! 
O, for her I grandly toss 
All this wealth of ebon floss ; 
Show my proudest, fleetest pace 
For the love of her dear face ; 
For the love-touch of her hand's 
Welcome gesture of command. 
Lightest step and loftiest mien, 
When she calls me — "Josephine" — 
I'm her darling, stable queen — 
Josephine. 



Falling Leaves TWENTY-FIVE 



Little Robert Dillon 

Heard of Hoosier Belle and Bessie? 

Finest horses in the land, 

With one notable exception, which I was 

about to make, 
That's me — Little Robert Dillon — 
One of Bessie's gay grandchildren, 
And I'm told I "take the cake." 

Hoosier Belle's my pretty mother, 
And I look just like her — so ! 
As one pea is like another — 
Only swifter on the go. 
Only neater, sweeter, fleeter, 
As a darling pet, completer — 
And I should be — for her sake. 
For I'm little Robert Dillon, 
One of Bessie's gay grandchildren, 
And I think I take the cake. 

O'er a better back than mine, 
Never hope to draw a line, 
Not a bit of use to try it ; 
Take a ribbon blue and tie it 
To my headstall ; tie it higher 
As befits a gallant flyer; 
And to me obeisance make, 
For I'm Little Robert Dillon, 
One of Bessie's gay grandchildren, 
And I know I take the cake. 



TWENTY-SIX Falling Leaves 



At Snoqualmie Falls 

I have seen thy hills, Snoqualmie, 
Silver-hooded through the mist — 
Temples veiled in solemn splendor, 
Bases swathed in amethyst. 

When God set the granite mountains 
At the dawning of creation, 
Did some worshipful, strong angel 
Pour thee out as a libation? 

Did he fling thee down, Snoqualmie, 
From the purple of thy hills — 
Gathering for thy leaping billows 
Waters of a thousand rills? 

Oh, thou silver-throated wonder ! 
Lonely falls of mystery ! 
Wert thou poured out for the mountains- 
Or the mountains framed for thee? 



Falling Leaves TWENTY-SEVEN 



A Symphony 

Athwart gray waves the vessels go, 
Mid soft gray skies the sun hangs low. 

The sea gulls skim and float and dip 
Their long gray wings beside the ship. 

In mists the far horizons die — 
Vague blendings of the sea and sky. 

But look ! the sun sends down to me 
A golden path across the sea. 



TWENTY-EIGHT Falling Leaves 



Opportunity 

On his own affairs attent — 
Passing near the city gate, 
Where the Christ a-weary bent 
Neath the heavy timber's weight — 
Midst the riot, rush and cry, 
When the haughty Roman's eye 
Fell on this stout passer-by. 

Simon of Cyrene, Oh, say ! 
When on thee they laid the cross 
Didst thou curse — or bless the day- 
Count it gain, or grievous loss ? 
Simon, Simon ! didst thou know 
All the glory of that woe — 
Joy of joys to serve Him so? 

Dead and buried thou hast been 
Twice a thousand years ; and yet 
Simon — Simon of Cyrene ! 
All too short for sore regret — 
All too recent to forget — 
If the cross when laid on thee 
Was upborne unwillingly. 



Falling Leaves TWENTY-NINE 



Sue, at Nineteen 

There were violets in the hollow of the wood 
And beneath the sodden leafage of the vale, 
Where our ancient, towering beech and maples stood, 
And the early springtime flowers never fail. 

And the violets were heaven's own blue, 
O, we plucked them, neath the sweet May skies, 
And the velvet petals wore the very hue 
That I used to see — my sister — in thine eyes. 

There were roses in the thickets growing wild, 
Mid a tangle of sweet briar blooming fair, 
Like thy cheeks they were — those roses undefiled — 
In the tangle of thy dusky, silken hair. 

There were happy birds that sang among the trees, 
And the brook beyond our wheat fields rippled low, 
And the music of the merriest of these 
Is thy voice as I recall it, long ago. 



Falling Leaves 



Puget Sound at Night 

Gray-tissued veils of mist threads interwoven 

Shrouds all our daylight world — our vision bars, 

But one sweet night I looked up into heaven 
And saw the blessed stars. 

The blessed, friendly stars ! In calm content 

Thro far, dim spaces, move so white and high — 

They are the gifts of Love : for comfort meant 
As the slow dark goes by. 

I cannot deem them worlds like unto this, 

With ebb and flow of pulsing water's tide, 

And human hearts a-throbbing woe and bliss. 
Where human homes abide. 

Remote they shine : their radiances blent 

In stately harmonies covet not release — 

We cannot fret them with our discontent, 
Vex with our wars their peace. 

Tho mute, they are not inarticulate. 

Save as our dullness their great message mars : 
He only wins his soul's complete estate 

Who looks beyond the stars. 



Falling Leaves THIRTY-ONE 



After Appomattox 

We walked beneath the orchard trees, 
The July sun shone in its prime — 

The ruddy clovers swept our knees ; 
That happy summer time. 

The mother's face was glorified, 

For all the thunders of the guns 

Were hushed, and when the echoes died 
She welcomed home her sons. 

They looked upon us as men look 
Who greet their kin in paradise ; 

And we — our souls with gladness shook, 
Our very hearts were in our eyes. 

Forgetting pain and mortal strife, 

They laughed with us beneath the trees — 

They were our dead come back to life, 
The heroes of the hard-won peace. 

We listened to the tales they told, 

We touched with awe the chevrons' hem ; 
We loved them with a love four-fold — 

Their fla°" — their dangers — service — them. 



THIRTY-TWO Falling Leaves 



They loved not strife, nor war nor wound — 

But we — for their sakes cherished sword and gun- 

The garb they wore — the very ground 
Their patriot feet had trod upon. 

Holy their cause and righteous seemed 

The nation's life to oneness drew ; 
They were returned with pledge redeemed, 

And not one star lost from the blue, 

So Righteousness and Mercy kissed, 

And thus the country's peace was won — 

But many a soldier's mother missed 
Her unreturninp- son. 



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